In Debt to the Enemy Lord

by Nicole Locke

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  Christmas Kiss from the Sheriff

  by Kathryn Albright

  Chapter One

  Southern California—1876

  Gemma’s warm breath turned to ethereal vapor in the frosty air as she marched determinedly toward the one-room schoolhouse. Unruly! That was the word. The children had been so full of energy yesterday that they had scarcely settled the entire day. Whether they had learned anything at all in the space of the seven hours was a mystery. The closer the days drew to Christmas, the more challenging it was to keep their attentions. Did all teachers suffer this problem or was she somehow lacking in the correct process of discipline?

  Of one thing she was well aware—her education by tutors had not prepared her in the least for the life she now led.

  Thank goodness for the one year she attended the university in Boston. Teaching was not so very different from being a lawyer or judge—particularly in the area of divvying out discipline. Her father had prepared her well in that regard.

  She adjusted her small lunch pail and the books she carried to a more comfortable position in her arms and turned from the main road to the dirt path that led to the new school building. Fresh tracks marked the tall damp grass—an oddity this early in the morning. Unease rippled through her, making her shiver as she stared at them. The sun glistened on a thin layer of frost, but where the imprints occurred, the weeds and grass were crushed down and wet. The footprints circled from the front steps of the building around to the small attached woodshed at its side. They were large enough to be those of a grown man.

  Now who would be lurking around the school at this hour?

  She climbed the two front steps and pushed the skeleton key into the lock when the door moved freely. Odd... She had locked it last thing yesterday. Quietly she opened the door and glanced about the one large room, taking in the vague lingering scent of varnish that still clung to the new benches and the loose clump of pine garland that she had deposited on her desk before leaving yesterday.

  To her left, in the back corner of the room, one of her older pupils sat at his desk slouched over a book. Fingers from one hand threaded through his stringy blond hair as he rested his head on his hand, completely absorbed in whatever he was reading. He hadn’t even noticed that she had entered the room. “Billy!”

  He jumped in his seat.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Got my chores done early and skedaddled afore Ma could find something more for me and Tara to do.”

  She walked over to stand beside him. He was halfway through the book Robinson Crusoe.

  Even though she was pleased to see him reading she couldn’t pretend to be happy about him breaking into the school. “How did you get inside? The door was locked.”

  The excitement of the story dropped from his expression and he swallowed. “I didn’t hurt anything, Miss Starling. Honest.”

  “That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have come inside at all. That is what a locked door indicates.”

  “It weren’t locked all the way,” he said, his chin raising.

  She cringed a little. “The proper use of the verb is wasn’t locked. And this isn’t open for debate.”

  His confidence wavered slightly. “Maybe it was just half locked and when I jiggled it, it opened.”

  She studied his earnest expression. No matter how he’d entered, rules were rules and he needed to follow them. “You are not to do it again. Understand?”

  “Yes’m,” he said, contrite now, his face red.

  She stared at him a moment longer, just to make her words stick. “For now, please see to lighting the stove and then go outside until you are called in with the others.”

  Sullen now, he rose to do her bidding.

  A twinge of guilt pricked her. Had she handled that correctly? It was important that she appear strong and capable. It was a fine line, she was learning, between keeping control of her classroom and yet not squelching her students’ zeal to learn. Billy was fifteen years old after all. When she was that age, she’d been full of the confidence of youth. She had considered herself practically grown no matter that her father called her his little girl still. At that age a dressing down by her teacher would have been humiliating. Perhaps she should have been more aware of that before chastising him. But then, perhaps given his age, he should not have trespassed in the first place.

  The conflicting thoughts hounded her as she walked to the coat closet, setting her lunch pail on the shelf above the long row of pegs. Shrugging from her night-blue woolen coat, she hung it on the last wooden peg and then rubbed her hands together to warm them. The mornings had been chilly for weeks, but of late, they were downright cold. Snow was expected any day and with the snow—Christmas.

  Billy walked by on his way to the door. She glanced down at his feet. The footprints she noticed must have been his. His shoes were as large as any mans, although the rest of him hadn’t caught up yet. He was as tall as her, lanky and still growing.

  “Mr. Odom? Are you enjoying Robinson Crusoe?”

  He shrugged noncommittally, before stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Boys were funny creatures. As an only child and female, she had little experience with what happened in their brains.

  Staring at the closed portal, she breathed a sigh of relief. For her first teaching job she had thought she would feel a bit more secure. Things came easier with the younger children, but the oldest ones... Billy and Duncan...she had more difficulty with. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was a schoolgirl herself—five years at most if she didn’t count the year at the university. She’d thought it wouldn’t be anything at all to slip into the role of teacher after her own exemplary education. Finding herself questioning her decisions and second-guessing herself had never entered her mind until she’d taken this position.

  The sounds of chatter as more children arrived outside made her push those thoughts to the back of her mind. She surveyed the room with a critical eye, making sure everything was ready for the lessons ahead. The schoolhouse seemed more comfortable than when she first arrived. Then, construction had been nearing completion and with the help of a few determined souls and the supplies her friend Elizabeth had brought from La Playa, the schoolroom had quickly come together.

  Picking up a sliver of chalk, she turned to the wall behind her desk and wrote the day’s morning lessons on the slate board. Fifteen minutes later, she withdrew
her father’s watch from her skirt pocket and checked the time. Nine o’clock. Time to ring the—

  “Miss Starling!” Moira Bishop rushed through the door. “C-c-come quick!” she cried in her high-pitched voice.

  Outside came the sound of one boy taunting another. “I ain’t doin’ it, ya crazy goat!”

  Gemma hurried out. In the schoolyard, all the children stood to one side and watched Duncan Philmont and Billy Odom circle each other like two feral dogs. Billy already sported a cut above his left eyebrow and a growing bruise there. This was a first. The two had never gotten along well, but they’d never come to fighting before.

  “Both of you...stop this immediately!” She rushed into the yard. “This is no way for civilized people to act.”

  Billy, his flannel shirt torn, never moved his gaze from Duncan. Blood dripped into his eye from the cut. He blinked, and then swiped his sleeve across his face to clear his vision. Duncan, a year older and standing a good foot taller than Billy, crouched down and moved closer, his angular face set in a menacing scowl. His tousled black hair contained bits of dried grass and small twigs and a large grass stain smeared his right shoulder sleeve.

  She may as well have not spoken at all for all the reaction it gained. “You must stop! What is this all about?” she demanded.

  “Back up, Teach,” Duncan said. “This ain’t no concern of yours.”

  Her spine stiffened. Teach, indeed! He knew better than to address her like that.

  “It is my concern if it happens here at my school.”

  Behind her one of the Daley boys bet on Duncan to win and two other children piped in that they’d put in a bet too. Shocked, she roared, “There will be no bets!”

  A few younger children backed up, their eyes wide at the first true display of anger she’d revealed since starting her position.

  However, her tone didn’t faze either of the two who continued to circle each other. Duncan inched closer, intent upon his next move and completely ignoring her. Blood dripped from his swollen and purple upper lip.

  Billy trembled with suppressed anger. Sweat streaked with mud ran down his face and neck.

  Suddenly Duncan leaped at him and grabbed behind his neck, pushing him, facedown toward the ground. Hunched over like that, Billy punched him hard in the gut—once and then with his other fist. With an oof, Duncan went down, pushing Billy with him. In the dirt and grass they grappled, their tempers gone, their only thoughts to pound the other to dust. Really, this was entirely out of hand!

  She must do something. Now. She raced back into the school and picked up the bucket of water she used to clean the slate board—filthy rag and all. Running back outside, she stepped up to the two and sloshed the cold contents of the bucket over both boys.

  “Yeow!” They rolled off each other and spit the filth from their mouths. Then they scrambled to their feet and stood there glaring at her, the water dripping off their messy hair.

  “I’m disappointed in the both of you. Christmas is nearly upon us! It’s a time that embraces a generous and giving spirit, and I find you both fighting!”

  Neither one said a word but their expressions said they absolutely hated her interference.

  “Nothing is worth fisticuffs. You must both learn to discuss things and compromise. That is the way of a civilized people.”

  Billy snorted. “Tell that to my pa.”

  She glared at him. “It takes a big man to keep control of his emotions. That is the mark of a gentleman.”

  “Who says I want to be a gentleman?” Duncan mumbled under his breath, a mutinous frown on his face.

  She chose to ignore his attitude. “All right then. Billy, go down to the creek and clean up, and then take your seat inside.”

  That she had singled him out first only made his anger more palpable. He picked up his flat tan cap that was now streaked with dirt and grass stains and slapped it against his thigh.

  “To the water, Mr. Odom.”

  When he’d finally shuffled off, she turned to the other boy. Duncan needed to wash up also, but she wasn’t about to put him in the same proximity with Billy so soon after the fight. “I’ll get you a cloth for that lip. You may take your seat now.”

  Duncan smirked, a half smile on one side of his face that made only one eye crinkle up, and took his time picking up his own flat cap from the grass. “Yes’m, Teach,” he said, before turning away and swaggering toward the schoolhouse.

  She didn’t like it...his belligerent attitude or the rude way he spoke to her. In the ten weeks that she had been teaching, she’d learned he had little respect for anyone, likely owing to his father’s position in the community. “Mr. Philmont. I will thank you to address me as Miss Starling.”

  He didn’t slow down, didn’t acknowledge that he heard her, and she found herself addressing his backside as he disappeared inside the building.

  She let out a frustrated sigh before catching herself. The other schoolchildren stood in a half circle, wide-eyed and watching to see what she would do next. It had been the first fight at the new school. What tales would they take home to their parents? Not once in all her years had she witnessed a schoolyard fight.

  She took a deep breath and then picked up the empty bucket. “Inside with the rest of you. It’s time to start school.”

  As the younger children scrambled into the building, Gemma watched Billy leave the edge of the clearing and trudge through the mix of pines that sloped down to the water. Why did people so easily turn to violence to solve things? Out here in the West, it seemed even more so than in Boston. One minute Billy had been reading and the next he was fighting. So quick to anger.

  It made her all the more determined to impart a decent education to her students. They depended on her. “‘The law is reason free from passion,’” she quoted under her breath. Aristotle. Which meant in this instance...hmm...she must not let her emotions interfere with her judgment when she handed out a punishment to Billy and Duncan. She could take it further, she supposed, and make sure her emotions were not transmitted to the students. Calm, cool, collected—that was the attitude. She blew out another breath. Thank goodness for Aristotle.

  Billy Odom never came back to class.

  * * *

  Craig Parker pounded the nail into the last plank of wood that now boarded up the entrance to the Farnsworth Mining Company’s one and only mine. He took a moment to check the sturdiness of his handiwork and figured it would do the job of warning off any curiosity seekers. He’d been around long enough to know that the lure of possible riches, even from an abandoned mine, still called to opportunistic men. There was always someone who thought they knew better than anyone else and could find a sliver of gold if they just looked hard enough—the danger be hanged.

  For a mining town it had come as a surprise that so many of the men were family inclined and wanting to settle here in Clear Springs. The boom on gold had played out except for a few of the mines and those were dwindling. It’s why the town had gone from nearly two thousand folks, mostly living in a tent city, to just over one hundred. Those that had stayed were putting down roots, strong roots. They built a church. And just finished a permanent school. It was a lot like the place he’d grown up in farther north.

  He stowed his hammer in his saddlebag and mounted his horse, Jasper, then reined the gelding toward town. When he’d taken the job of sheriff, he hadn’t considered closing up a mine would be part of his job, but Chet, the owner of the mine, had become something of a friend. After facing down thieves, Chet had been laid up healing from an injury. He was now back to work at a viable mine, but Craig figured boarding up this millstone was the least he could do for the kid.

  Since that first bit of excitement things had been fairly quiet in town. The next haul of gold from the Palomino Mine made it down to the bank in San Diego without so much as a whisper of trouble
. He wasn’t complaining, but other than jailing obnoxious drunks overnight so that they could sober up, he’d like to feel that he was doing more for the community that had hired him.

  Pressing his legs against his horse, he urged him into a gentle lope. The morning haze was gone, the sun high overhead and filtering through the boughs of the tall pines. The crisp, dry air crackled with a static charge every so often and held a clearness he never got tired of seeing.

  He followed a self-made route every day. Now that school was in session, he had taken to riding by the new schoolhouse. He told himself that it was because the school was part of the township, but deep down, he knew he wouldn’t mind a quick gander at the pretty new schoolteacher. He’d seen her once in the yard, and watched amused as she played ball with the children. He was fairly sure that she’d seen him too. For a moment her gaze had caught his. She had quickly extricated herself from the game, brushing back the tendrils of dark brown hair that had fallen into her line of vision, and then refocused on him. With a flounce of her skirt, she had disappeared inside the schoolhouse.

  He took the deer trail across the meadow and through the pines until he came to the shallow creek a short distance from the school. He found his usual spot where the span of the creek was twenty feet wide and the water rippled gently over the submerged rocks, creating small whorls in the shallows. Dismounting, he released the reins and let his horse drink.

  Fifty feet upstream something yellow flashed.

  Along the bank a young girl had laid across a large boulder, stretched herself as long as possible and was trying to retrieve something from the ripples. She wore an overly large green knitted sweater over a yellow pinafore smudged with dirt. Blond braids hung down and skimmed the surface of the water as she reached for whatever eluded her in the water. He hoped it was worth a dousing, because it looked like that was going to happen in about two seconds.

  “Here, now!” he called, striding toward her. “What are you up to there?”